


kiss me goodnight, not goodbye

by TroglodyteMonologue



Series: tonight, tonight, it all began tonight [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Quantum Abyss (Voltron), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroglodyteMonologue/pseuds/TroglodyteMonologue
Summary: Keith nods back at the record player over his shoulder. “You are so old school, you know that? With your hair like that and your taste in music, people are really gonna think you’re an old man,” he jokes and he wants, desperately, for Shiro to look up with a grin and give him a cheeky, yet graceful retort.“It’s classic, not old school. Maybe you should broaden your musical horizons,” he imagines Shiro would say. But he doesn’t.That’s when Keith sees it. The gold ring on Shiro’s left hand; warm and shiny and terrifying.On day two-hundred and thirty-seven, Keith finally sees Shiro in a solar flare vision and learns more about his best friend's future than he wanted.
And then, Keith experiences his own future.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: tonight, tonight, it all began tonight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977112
Comments: 39
Kudos: 129





	1. The Present

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the previous work in this series isn't necessary, though they are connected.
> 
> And here's some [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmjifN-W0Gw) for when you might need it. : ))) Thanks in advance for reading!!

Keith misses music.

He never used to think about it. To Keith, music was just something floating in the background; to fill up the silence or cover up the sound of his own hard breathing while he trained.

But now, as he travels through the vast, chaotic outer world of the quantum abyss with nothing but time on his hands, Keith thinks about music quite a lot. He thinks about it when the wolf’s tail thumps against their cave wall in a rhythm, when he absentmindedly taps his Marmoran knife against rock, and when Krolia quietly hums something under her breath and she thinks Keith isn’t listening. She doesn’t do it often and he isn’t sure if there is a melody to it — but it’s nice. Keith wonders if it is a sign of happiness. Happy as they can be given the circumstances.

The strange world they carve out for themselves on the back of the cosmic whale is not ideal, but it feels like a fresh start. Keith gets to know his mother. He gets an animal companion. He gets a home. Since his dad died, their strange, astronomical family life is possibly the closest thing to normal Keith’s ever known.

Most importantly, for once in his life, Keith gets to slow down. He _learns_ to slow down.

Keith becomes more observant of his surroundings and the pace of his routine. He takes the time to enjoy the things he would have taken for granted before. Like the warmth of a stone cup against his palms, filled with an unknown space tea that tastes like butter and smells like mint. Or like the press of Kosmo’s wet nose against his cheek and the accompanying snorting sounds in his ear. 

Keith tunes into detail. He notices when flowers have spots instead of stripes. He notices when the constellations mysteriously change. He notices when Krolia makes an effort to cook something closer to Earth food. He appreciates it.

And with his heightened awareness, Keith often notices a deafening silence. Bubbled within the whale’s own atmosphere, they aren’t subject to the true noiseless, space vacuum. But the ambience of their home is surprisingly quiet. The whale’s ecosystem is alive and flourishing, but still very young and uncomplicated in comparison to most planets. Sometimes Keith hears the fluttering of insect’s wings or the shuffle of something amongst the ferns. Sometimes the whale lets out a melodic, resonant bay that Keith can feel deep in his core. But mostly, it’s a foreign, quiet world. 

Keith is used to other sounds. Howling desert wind. A lion’s roar. The clanging of blades. The buzz of alien technology. His teammate’s voices. Shiro’s voice.

Keith misses Shiro more than he misses music.

He misses Shiro so much that his heart aches every time the man sneaks into Keith’s thoughts. And Shiro stows away there often, no matter how hard Keith tries to keep him out. Keith has some control when he’s awake, but almost none when he’s asleep. Shiro’s warm smile, determined brow, and sure hands are at the center of Keith’s nicer dreams. His trim waist, rippling triceps, and smirking lips are in the best of them. No matter what the context, Shiro brings a buoyant happiness with him that Keith latches on to like a life preserver. But the joy is temporary. Because then Keith opens his eyes and Shiro is lightyears away, the ache settles in.

It’s a dull, sorrowful pain that resounds in a place Keith can’t even begin to describe. And it makes him almost nauseous. Because Keith knows there is a chance they may never see each other again. Death could just as easily wait for him at the end of the ride. Knowledge or death. Everything in space is dangerous and there is no reason to believe he can survive everything a giant space whale can. He’s pragmatic, if not cynical at his core. It’s a natural instinct to consider the possibility.

And that’s when Keith regrets not being braver.

Because he caught that _look_ in Shiro’s eye every once in a while; a gaze that made him pause and think that maybe they stood a chance. Maybe they could finally reach out and grasp for a happiness neither of them thought they deserved. So many opportunities come and gone, and Keith has long stretches of time to imagine all the unseized moments. Everything that could have been. Had he only put his courage in his mouth instead of his blade.

Because he knows, without the words being explicitly spoken, that Shiro loves him. Not as a friend, or a brother, or even a brother-in-arms. Their love and connection is like navigating the quantum abyss: complicated and complex, but always heading for the same destination. At least, that is what Keith came to believe.

And when Keith is at his lowest, when his thoughts are clouded and hopeless with the stress of loneliness and his never ending mission, Keith _begs_ the universe to let him see Shiro one more time. Or, at least, to get a message through. That somehow, in some way, Shiro will look up and see a red gleam in the stars and know that Keith is thinking about him.

And on day two-hundred and thirty-seven, it happens.

Keith is walking along the narrow dirt path he’s worn along the perimeter, doing his usual midday surveillance check. The activity is less for security and more to pass the time, but Keith uses the daily trek to decompress his thoughts and daydream. Today, he tries to recall the lyrics to a song he once liked. He can hum the chorus under his breath, but the first verse keeps escaping him. Keith told his mother that he would recite it to her — “I missed out on so much, tell me about all the things you liked on Earth,” she said to him — so he has to get it right.

Keith sees the flash approaching out of the corner of his eye; the pulse of a solar flare strong enough to blind him. He is accustomed to them now and reaches to brace himself against a narrow tree, clamping his eyes shut against the intense glare. It rushes through him, igniting a tingling sensation over his skin and making his heart skip a few beats. It’s happened more times than he can count, but the feeling still thrills him.

Keith waits for a few seconds, letting the glaring light fade, and opens his eyes. He is standing in a room he has never seen before.

It’s Earth. He can tell from the shape of the windows, the pattern of a throw blanket over a sofa, and the spines of books on a shelf nearby. He hasn’t seen a physical book in ages.

It’s a living room. The furniture is modern and gray, made of metal and dark, espresso wood. Accents of dark blue and deep purple stand out against the generally neutral tone and Keith likes the design immediately. It’s tidy, clean, and not overly decorated. It’s dark so Keith assumes evening has already fallen. There are plenty of other details he should notice; framed pictures and strange memorabilia sitting next to the books that could set the time and place for him. 

But Keith can’t focus on anything except for the music. A melody drifts — like a hazy, static laced memory from a bygone era — from the brass horn of an ancient looking gramophone in the corner.

Keith’s first thought is: _Shiro always said he wanted one of those._

Despite the record player’s fine condition and well polished look, the archaic device is strikingly out of place against all the other contemporary belongings. The record beneath the pin spins steadily, almost hypnotically. A jazzy song heavy on the clarinet hums low through the hiss and crackle of most old recordings. Keith imagines it as the background to some wordless, black and white movie he’s only ever seen pictures of. 

The music makes the room feel warmer than it is. Though, Keith knows that’s an illusion. The memory waves are purely visual and auditory. Temperature and smell are often tricks of the mind. So he knows the cologne he smells a few moments later is the product of his own desperate imagination. He knows, yet it seems so real.

The other man in the room is so still Keith almost overlooks him.

He sits at a small table near the darkened set of windows, broad shoulders and white hair framed by golden light from a table lamp. Although his aura is angelic, he is dressed in ordinary Earthen clothes: a plain gray shirt and dark blue pajama pants. Keith can only see his back, but he knows — on pure instinct alone — who the man is. 

He could recognize those shoulder blades anywhere.

“Shiro?” Keith calls, knowing the man can’t hear him. The white-haired man doesn’t move. With the strong possibility of disappointment hovering over him, Keith cautiously navigates the space between the coffee table and the couch, eyes watching the man as his features come into view.

It’s him.

It’s the first time Keith has seen Shiro through a solar wave. Which is surprising because Keith’s life is so saturated in Shiro it seems impossible to fade him out. Keith wonders what makes this moment in the future so important in comparison to all the memories they already share. As is the mysterious way of the cosmos, there always seems to be a reason.

From the aged hair on his head, Keith expects to see the face of an old man. But Shiro is still youthful; in his late thirties at the most. He has a new arm — a big arm attached by a powerful electromagnetic connection that looks more Altean than Galran. Keith thinks it’s very cool. The faintest indents of early wrinkles set into his brow are a testament to his yet unending responsibilities. But the crows feet forming at the corners of his eyes are evidence of a life enjoyed all the same. He is still very handsome. The kind of debonair handsome that turns heads and gets frustratingly better with age. Keith figured that would be the case, though older Shiro surpasses all expectations.

But most importantly, Shiro looks strong. Healthy. And back on Earth. Safe. Somehow, the winds of fate have shifted.

Keith’s chest flutters as he gasps an involuntary sob. 

Seeing Shiro at peace brings Keith more relief than he expects. Keith spent years imagining his worst nightmare loomed on the horizon. He never said a word about it to Shiro or the others. When they were so well wrapped up in Voltron and the war, Keith never wanted to do Shiro that disservice — not like Shiro’s commanding officers or Adam. Shiro deserved to live, fight, and lead without hesitation or judgement for as long as his body would allow. For as long as he wanted. Freedom was just as important to Keith, so he understood.

But that never stopped that pang of fear Keith felt whenever Shiro seemed uncommonly tired. Or when he mentioned taking a longer shower than usual for his aching muscles. Shiro always said it was from training but… still. Keith was so painfully aware of the time they had left.

Mature Shiro still has his bulk and a nice color on his nicely angled cheekbones. Although he moves very little from where he is seated, he appears to have a sureness in his mobility. Keith doesn’t see a crutch or a wheelchair or any equipment. Shiro isn’t even wearing his medical watch. 

Keith isn’t a crier, but he really thinks he might cry. Because Shiro gets the chance to grow old.

He wants to reach out and touch his best friend; to indulge himself in an embrace. But he knows that isn’t possible, so Keith wraps his arms around himself instead. He wishes his hands were a little bigger, then it might actually feel like Shiro. He swallows down the tightness in his throat and blinks away the moisture building in his waterlines. The memories and flashes of the future only last so long and he doesn’t want to waste time watching Shiro through teary eyes.

Keith rounds the back of the couch and lingers on the other side of the table, content to just stare at the man he loves for as long as the universe will let him. 

Shiro pushes a pair of rectangular framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose and frowns down the glowing, orange datapad in his hands. Keith isn’t entirely sure if he likes the glasses or the little bit of scruff on his chin, but he commits the new look to memory. Keith drinks everything in. The way the light plays against Shiro’s scar, the pronounced veins on the backs of his big hands, the way he quirks an eyebrow when something on the screen is particularly puzzling. 

The solar wave has opened a window to a strangely intimate moment. Shiro is alone, guard down, listening to music no one knows he likes. In a world he seems comfortable with, Shiro simply _exists_. He knows nothing of the invisible audience watching him so closely, so nothing about him is affected. He just… is. And Keith, despite living in a different time and place, feels close to Shiro again.

“Hey.” Keith’s voice is startlingly clear, but Shiro doesn’t look up. 

The song ends, static hums in the air, and another song begins.

Keith nods back at the record player over his shoulder. “You are so old school, you know that? With your hair like that and your taste in music, people are really gonna think you’re an old man,” he jokes and he wants, desperately, for Shiro to look up with a grin and give him a cheeky, yet graceful retort.

“ _It’s classic, not old school. Maybe you should broaden your musical horizons_ ,” he imagines Shiro would say. But he doesn’t.

That’s when Keith sees it. The gold ring on Shiro’s left hand; warm and shiny and terrifying.

Keith wishes he hadn’t looked so close. He doesn’t want to know _that_ much about the future. It’s too final. Shiro is married and the ‘what-if’ chapter has come to a close. Keith uncrosses his arms and unconsciously touches the empty ring finger of his left hand. He knows better than to set himself up for disappointment, but he can’t help but entertain the thought that he’s seeing _their_ future.

Unfortunately, Keith has always believed that if something appears too good to be true — it is.

Keith wipes the ring from his current thoughts, determined to forget about it. 

He won’t.

“It’s really good to see you, Shiro,” Keith says to distract himself. But he means it with his whole heart. “It’s really good to see you like _this_.”

Keith shuffles. He is waiting for the universe to pull the rug out from underneath him. For Shiro’s unknown husband to come into the room and kiss him goodnight. Or for the vision to fade entirely. But the room doesn’t disappear in a blinding light and Shiro continues to sit quietly and do whatever late business needs tending.

So Keith decides to let himself have this. If he faces down death before seeing Shiro again, Keith is going to kick himself in the afterlife for being such a coward.

The chair opposite Shiro is pulled out from the table, inviting him. Keith can’t actually touch anything but sometimes he gets lucky. He places his palm against the base of the chair and he feels something solid. In reality, back on the whale, something is there. Carefully, Keith sits down. He folds his hands in his lap, careful to not break the vision by accidentally passing his hand through the table.

Keith looks at Shiro, sitting just a few feet away, and feels pesky emotions bubble up again. Just being across a table from Shiro is enough. He can’t help but grin like a fool. “Man, I’ve had so many imaginary conversations with you in my head and now I don’t know what to say,” Keith says. “I have so many questions. So many things I want to tell you about. Got nearly a year’s worth of stuff to catch up on.”

Shiro scrolls through some text with his thumb and itches the side of his nose.

Keith cocks his head. “I even had this really messed up daydream where I knew I was gonna die and — man, this sounds so emo when I say it out loud but — I could only send you one quick message. I know exactly what I’d say then.” He opens his mouth to say it, hesitates, and then shakes his head, chickening out at the last second. Not because he is a coward, but because he’s a secret romantic. Keith wants to say it to Shiro at the right time: when it matters most.

Keith sighs. “These things don’t usually last very long. Four or five minutes, at the most,” he says. “Had a real short one from the Garrison days a couple of weeks ago. Just long enough to see myself get punched in the face. In retrospect, I think I deserved it. How you ever put up with me back then, I’ll never know.”

Talking to Shiro feels good. But Keith isn’t used to driving the conversation. He likes to drop a few words into group discussions or have short, one-on-one meetings that have a quick conclusion. At least, that’s what he’s used to. Just sitting down to talk feels foreign to him. It feels like therapy. But it’s Shiro. And after nearly a year of having only Krolia and the wolf as companions, Keith has plenty of things to unload. He starts with the obvious.

“I found my mom,” Keith says. The announcement should solicit a big, excited response, but Shiro only blinks. Keith massages the fleshy part of his palm absent-mindedly. “She’s… not entirely what I expected. Not the Galra part, I sort of expected that at this point but… But why I am who I am makes a lot more sense to me now.”

Keith has never been particularly self-aware or self-reflective, but he recognizes the similarities between himself and Krolia. An aptitude for single-minded dedication, a resourceful fighting style, an inherent survivalist nature. They work together well, like a well oiled machine. But as he got to know Krolia better, Keith has come to the conclusion that he got a stronger sense of empathy from his father. ‘Stronger’ being a completely relative term. 

“She’s cool. I mean, not many people can say their mom is an intergalactic alien spy,” Keith shrugs with a small smile. “She’s trying to get used to being around a human again, I think. Sometimes she can be a little tough but that’s a trait most Galra have. After training with the Blades, I’m used to it.”

Keith wrings his hands together. “Her name is Krolia but… I just started calling her ‘mom’ a couple weeks ago,” he admits. “Kind of a weird thing to think about. She’s my mother, yeah, but she was a stranger to me at first. Still kind of is, but we’re getting there. I just… couldn’t call her that until I was ready.”

Keith smiles up at the beamed ceiling as he recalls the memory. “I don’t think Galrans actually have tear ducts, but she had this tremor in her voice afterwards that I’d never heard before. So I think it meant a lot to her.”

They still have a long way to go. There is plenty they still don’t know about one another and Keith has to slowly chip away at what is left of his resentment. He imagines Krolia has her own personal guilt to grapple with as well.

“She had to make a really tough decision to leave when I was a baby,” Keith says, “I’ve always been the type to believe that the good of the many is more important than the good of the few but… When I’m the one who got left behind, it just sounds like a bunch of stupid words. I know she left to protect us. I know. I just wish…” he sighs and leans forward, elbows on his knees, “...I wish there had been a better way. ‘Cause now dad’s gone and we don’t even have the option of a real second chance as a family.”

The record skips. The effect is disconcerting as the music loops over one phrase repeatedly:

_— mend a broken heart — mend a broken heart — mend a broken heart — mend a broken heart_

Shiro looks up for the first time and Keith finally sees that soft gray, even gentler behind the lenses of his glasses. He imagines Shiro looking right at him, though reason tells Keith he can’t see a ghost. The chair scrapes against the wood floor as Shiro stands and Keith wants to reach out as he passes by. He wants to grab hold of his shirt and tug in hopes that Shiro, against the laws of the universe, will know that he’s there. But Keith pulls his hand back and Shiro walks unhindered to the record player.

Keith twists in his chair to watch as Shiro’s floating hand carefully lifts the pin and the human hand gently removes the record. He flips the switch on a standing lamp in the corner, scrutinizes the grooved surface of the vinyl, and picks up a toothpick from near the gramophone’s base.

Keith is getting too comfortable. He’s ogling over Shiro too much. The clock is ticking.

He continues, “I forgive her and all, it’s just — It’s funny — you know what made me feel better about it?” 

“ _Hm?_ ” Keith imagines he hears as Shiro gingerly traces a groove with the wooden pick.

“That they were really in love. Like, real honest love,” Keith admits. He feels a pang in his heart when Shiro smiles to himself. Keith knows the smile isn’t for him, but he desperately wants it to be. 

He presses on, “I got to see it myself in a memory like this one. My dad _never_ looked at anyone the way he looked at her. I wasn’t the by-product of some one night stand or a broken relationship. I mean, she travelled across the universe and turned her back on her own people to be with my dad. And he was willing to risk his life for her cause. In my book, that’s really romantic.”

_I would do the same for you, Shiro. In a heartbeat._

Keith knows he can say it out loud, but it’s too embarrassing. Too sappy. Too true. 

So Keith goes quiet for a few moments as Shiro resets the record and turns off the light. The horn quietly crackles for a few moments before the song fades in once more. Shiro returns to his seat with a sigh and Keith faces him fully. The older man takes the glasses off his face and sets them aside. Keith is silently ecstatic. The handsome man rubs his face and runs his fingers back through his hair before turning to look at the clock on the wall. Keith looks too.

_22:53_

With a deep sigh, Shiro goes back to his work.

“My dad never talked about her much,” Keith presses on, “Just told me the bare minimum so I’d stop asking questions. I thought maybe that was because it was one sided. That he loved her, but she didn’t love him back. But she loved him. And me. Enough to leave and protect us. Before I even knew who he was, Zarkon was already messing with my life.”

Shiro grins at something on his datapad and, this time, Keith imagines it’s for him.

Keith sits up to his full height. He wants to lean back and relax like they used to do in the castle together, but he knows he’ll fall straight through the nonexistent chair. “No matter which way you slice it, someone loses out,” he muses, “It’s one of those really hard calls no one ever wants to make. If I was in her shoes, I think I’d do the exact same thing. If I ever had to choose between the people I loved and — ” 

Keith bites the inside of his cheek and his chest tightens, guilt twisting at his heart. “I guess I already did that, huh? You have no idea where I am right now. I never got to say goodbye.” Keith knows that time is warped where he is, but it’s hard for Krolia and Keith to do the math without the proper equipment or know-how. He hopes — he prays — that Shiro isn’t looking for him. That he isn’t scouring the galaxies like Keith resolutely did in search of Shiro. That’s twice they’ve been separated and come back together despite the odds. Third time’s the charm, they say.

Keith stares at his best friend. It’s an indulgent, obvious, wanting gaze that he never intends for Shiro to see.

If Keith went missing, Shiro would absolutely come looking for him. Unlike Keith, he wouldn’t stubbornly do it alone. He would gather together teams; bring people to his cause with confident words and a guiding hand. He would exhaust every resource; calculate every option. He would chase down every lead with a hopeful, steady heart and only express his disappointment in private. Because that’s the type of man Shiro is.

The young Blade swallows hard and says, “You’ve always been good at those hard decisions, Shiro. Level headed. You can make the pros and cons list in your head at a second’s notice. It’s like you can actually predict the outcome. That’s how confident you come across.”

The song ends and another begins. It’s a slow, swaying type of melody that makes Keith think of the patio of his desert shack on a hot summer’s night. Earth is so far away. The castle is so far away. Shiro is so far away.

“I wish I could see that far right now,” Keith says, small and quiet. And then, with a tremor he can’t suppress, he murmurs, “I miss you.”

Any reaction on Shiro’s part that Keith could read into would have been nice, but the man is mostly still; breathing steadily, gray eyes slowly moving back and forth as he reads. Keith’s thoughts have gone quiet. He has more to say, more new memories and complicated thoughts to share with the man he loves. But he wants to hear Shiro’s voice. He wants to hear that calming, deep timbre telling him everything will be alright. He would give up music to hear that.

Keith’s own voice cracks when he pleads, “Shiro. Shiro? Would you say something? Please.”

Shiro turns his face up and almost scares Keith from his seat. He swears they lock eyes; that Shiro looks not beyond his plane, but right on it. His warm grays remind Keith of stormy, overcast mornings. The kind that made Keith savor his bed for too long and flip his pillow to feel the cool underside against his cheek. And Keith is too shocked to say anything. He licks his lips and waits with bated breath for the older man to say something. Anything.

After a few seconds, Keith hears a creak loud enough to break through the music. Shiro’s eyes shift over his shoulder.

“I can’t sleep, Papa,” a little boy’s voice sings.

Keith’s head whips around so hard his neck hurts.

Not one, but two small children stand in the open archway. Keith isn’t good at guessing age, but he imagines the children can’t be older than nine. They have the same inky black, shoulder length hair. But while the boy has it down in messy pillow curls, the girl has it pulled back in a small ponytail. The boy holds a stuffed narwhal to his chest and the girl has her arms crossed. They both wear pajamas two sizes too big for them. 

“Me too,” says the girl.

“Well that’s no good,” Shiro says. With each new shock, Keith is at a serious risk for tears. It’s too much to take; the wedding band, the home on Earth, Shiro’s children, his voice as clear as a bell.

Shiro sets down his datapad and tiredly smiles, “We can’t have three insomniacs in the family.”

The little boy makes straight for Shiro with a sluggish, waddling gait. He has a sweet, youthful face with round cheeks and the biggest, honey warm doe eyes Keith has ever seen. With more energy than her brother, the girl pointedly chooses a different destination. She climbs up on the couch, puts her short arms up on the backing, and rests her head on her folded hands. Up close, the children look strikingly similar. Keith looks back and forth between the two. 

Keith’s eyes go wide. “ _Twins_. No wonder you’ve gone all white.”

Shiro, a father. With his protective instincts and naturally paternal demeanor, it’s such an obvious, natural progression for his life. But Keith still can’t believe his eyes when he watches Shiro pluck the little boy from the ground like he’s done it a thousand times before. He sits the boy over his lap, little legs draped across his own and tiny socked feet kicking out toward the sofa. The boy leans back, cradled and supported by a Shiro’s floating arm.

“When’s daddy coming home?” asks the boy, resting his head against Shiro’s chest and plucking at a frayed thread on his narwhal’s horn.

Shiro grins. “Ah, so there it is. The _real_ reason.”

“You said he’d be home before we went to bed,” says the girl. From most children, her attitude would have come out like a pout or indignance. But her tone is candid, so mature for someone so young. The juxtaposition between her high, cute voice and her straightforward demeanor is almost humorous.

Shiro’s grin sinks a little. “I did. I’m sorry, honey. Papa gets things wrong sometimes.”

“’S okay,” says the little boy, looking up at his father’s chin. “We know you’re excited to see him too.” He is softer than his sister and is clearly more in tune with other’s feelings. In one way or another, Shiro’s kids are sharp. Because, of course they are. Keith would expect nothing less.

“I am,” Shiro agrees and squeezes his son closer. 

The girl lets out a big, dramatic sigh and drapes half her body over the couch. “Daddy’s been gone _forever_. I hope he brings us something cool. I’ll forgive him faster.”

“His missions keep getting longer and longer,” says the boy.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Shiro says and he can’t even hide the sadness in his voice. Maybe he isn’t as happy as Keith thinks he is.

The boy lets out a big sigh that uses his whole chest and holds his toy tight. “We just wanted to see him before bed.”

Shiro pulls back and makes a face, playful and silly. “What am I? Chopped liver?” Being a father has made him loosen up a little. Keith could take a page or two from that book.

“No!” the boy giggles and Keith thinks it’s the most delightful laughter he’s ever heard; like a bright song. As if the two are connected emotionally, the girl’s mood shifts. She smiles and says, “Uncle Hunk showed me chopped liver once. He said he was making a patty from it. It was gross and slimy. You’re not gross or slimy.”

Keith snorts. He likes her. 

“Well I’m glad you think so,” Shiro says. “And that’s pâté, sweetheart. Not patty. It’s liver paste.”

The girl raises her eyebrows. “Ohhh. I didn’t think it looked like a burger, but I didn’t want to hurt Uncle Hunk’s feelings.”

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“What’s ‘in some knee hack’? Is that bad?” the boy asks.

Stars, they’re both such cute kids.

Shiro chuckles. “Oh, insomniac. No, it’s not an insult. It’s a word for a person who has trouble sleeping.”

The girl counts on her fingers. “Are you an in-some-niac? Daddy says you don’t sleep good.”

“Yeah, well, your daddy can sleep just about anywhere at the drop of a hat. So he doesn’t have any room to judge.” Keith can’t help but recall talking with Shiro about that very issue when Shiro found Keith curled up and asleep in the corner of the training deck. It’s pure coincidence and Keith shouldn’t read into it. But he does.

Like he weighs nothing at all, Shiro lifts the little boy up, stands (with a slight old man grunt), and perches the child on his hip. “C’mon, let’s get you two back to bed,” he announces.

The boy vehemently shakes his head and refuses to wrap his arms around Shiro’s neck. He’s tired and upset, on the verge of getting cranky. “I want daddy to sing the goodnight song,” he says. Keith doesn’t really sing, so it’s a point against him.

Shiro rubs his son’s back. “I know, honey. But I don’t think he’s even landed yet. It might be a few more hours until he gets here. He’ll do it tomorrow. Promise.”

The girl doesn’t move and seems prepared to settle in for a battle with the couch as her fortress. “He did it over the communicator last time, but it wasn’t the same,” she says.

“I could sing it if you want,” Shiro offers.

Keith doesn’t know what Shiro’s singing voice sounds like. Now he’s desperate to find out. 

“No,” the boy says and let’s his head fall heavily against Shiro’s shoulder, who is taken aback by his blunt response.

The girl translates for her brother. “You singing the goodnight song is like daddy making _your_ banana pancakes,” she says.

Shiro raises his eyebrows and contemplates that answer for a few moments. “It isn’t bad but… it just doesn’t feel right?”

The boy nods, “Yeah.”

“Five more minutes,” the girl argues.

Shiro sighs. “No.”

“Four more minutes.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Four doboshes.”

Shiro frowns. “A dobosh is longer than a minute. You think you can pull that on me, young lady?”

Somewhere behind Keith a door opens; then, the sound of footsteps and something else tapping quickly against the wooden floors. He freezes when everyone else in the room perks up. Dread sinks in. He doesn’t want to know. Keith would rather live with at least an inkling of hope, just the tiniest thread, than saddle himself with a lifetime of disappointment. He _needed_ it to keep him sane. Because the only thing that kept him waking up every day was hope. Knowing he was moving toward a future that didn’t have Shiro at the center of it would be so much harder.

Keith watches the girl’s eyes light up as she exclaims, “Daddy!” She bounds off the couch and out of sight, nearly tripping over herself.

Shiro smiles and the little boy in his arms squirms, “Down! Down!” he demands. So Shiro bends and puts him on the ground. The boy disappears from sight. There’s a lot of giggling and happy noises, but Keith still refuses to look.

Keith stares at Shiro’s silhouette. He watches the love of his life… watch the love of his life. Shiro radiates happiness. It doesn’t look it, not to the untrained eye. But Keith can feel it coming off him in waves. Despite whatever problems he and his husband have, Shiro is still in love. Keith can only _imagine_ what it feels like to be under a look like that. He can only dream about a universe without war and being in love and having a family. The bliss. The luxury. Whoever the man behind him is, he is the luckiest man alive. “Welcome home, babe,” Shiro says with a kind of dreamy reverie and Keith swallows down the lump in his throat.

Shiro steps forward and begins to move out of Keith’s sight line. Keith panics and reaches out to grab Shiro by the hem of his shirt. As expected, Keith’s hand passes right through; like trying to catch smoke. Not hot or cold, just air.

He doesn’t know if trying to touch Shiro was the catalyst, but Keith senses the vision coming to an end. They end much like the way they begin. The room grows brighter and warmer. Keith’s ears ring.

“Babe, are you alright? Is something wrong?” he hears Shiro ask. 

Keith keeps his eyes trained forward. He looks directly at the bookshelf opposite of him, waiting for everything to come to a close. He expects it and so, it’s okay. Keith got more time with Shiro than he anticipated. 

What he does not expect is for his eyes to catch sight of a small mirror. It sits high on the shelf, at shoulder height. The moving limbs and the kid’s jumping around make it hard to see much at all but… Keith sees the flash of a Blade uniform. The patterned cut of a leader’s tunic. Then, as the person turns ever so slightly, a neck of pale skin and long black hair, braided over one shoulder.

Keith’s heart skips two beats and his eyes go wide.

He turns.

Intense light whites everything out and Keith screws his eyes shut against his will.

When he opens them again, the room is gone. Shiro and the kids are gone. The music is gone. Keith is alone, sitting on a pink mossed boulder. The gentle whisper of the long grass nearby brings him back to reality. A gust of cosmic wind flows over the surface of the whale and ruffles his hair. Keith’s heart pounds in his ears. 

He tries to make sense of what he saw. Of what he _thinks_ he saw. He tries to reason with himself. Shiro could easily marry some other Blade. Maybe the Blades start to take in human recruits in the future. Maybe Keith saw what he wanted to see and it wasn’t a Blade uniform at all, just a patterned shirt. And black hair doesn’t mean anything. Plenty of people had black hair and Keith has never let his hair grow so long. He comes up with one excuse after another to try and douse his hopes. But it’s too late, the fire is already lit. 

Keith sits on that boulder for a long time, replaying the last few seconds of the vision behind his eyelids. Over and over, he comes back to the same conclusion.

It _could_ be him.

The realization is too much. His entire body trembles, high on hope and a sudden adrenaline rush. He breathes in and out, deep and focused. He tries to think about something else because if he falls down that rabbit hole, he will never be able to escape. Then he remembers the look of love on Shiro’s face. That earnest smile, the twinkling in his eyes.

He knows better. The universe has taught him better. And yet… Keith has no concrete evidence why it _can’t_ be him. 

Keith jogs the perimeter twice more to shake out his nerves. It only helps so much and the endorphin hum from the exercise ends up clearing the way for Keith’s mind to wander even further than it should. He thinks of a home. Shiro. A family. It all flashes through his mind to the melody of a crackling, song from a bygone era — a song he will remember for as long as he lives. 

_— mend a broken heart — mend a broken heart — mend a broken heart — mend a broken heart_

Krolia is waiting for him when he finally arrives back to their cave. She regards him and understands that something happened, but doesn’t press. As long as Keith is physically okay, Krolia always allows his moods to pass however they will. Sometimes Keith will approach the subject. But this time, he’s glad she gives him the choice of privacy and silence. He wants to keep that possible future for himself, stored away in a little music box inside his mind.

Their dinner has long oversimmered and the space roots swimming in broth are almost mushy. But Keith eats it because he knows it’s his fault. And Krolia doesn’t seem to care either. 

They are quietly eating their meal when Keith looks up from the fire and asks, “Do the Galra have any lullabies?”

Krolia blinks, seemingly confused by the question. “What is a lullaby?”

“Something you sing to a kid. When you want them to go to sleep,” Keith says.

“No, not really,” she answers. It’s what Keith expects, so he just looks down at his stew and takes another bite. “The Galra aren’t much for music,” she elaborates.

The fire between them crackles. The wolf laying nearby rolls onto his back and his tongue flops out from his mouth. Keith reaches over to rub his belly with a smile. It’s not a house back on earth with a couch and a record player, but their home feels just as warm.

“But there is a battle hymn,” Krolia suddenly adds. Keith looks up.

“If a parent is feeling particularly sentimental or worried, they may sing it to their child before they leave for war. A prayer of sorts. For their safe return. I sang it to you when you were a baby. Your father thought it was… what was the word he used? Morbid?”

_I want daddy to sing the goodnight song._

“Could you teach it to me?” Keith asks. He doesn’t add, ‘just in case’.


	2. The Future

Keith is unfazed when Shiro’s hair turns white.

But his jaw hits the floor when Shiro makes his move on the Garrison balcony. Keith counters, seizing the opportunity for a possible lifetime of happiness. He doesn’t tell Shiro about what he saw in the quantum abyss. Keith doesn’t want to jinx it.

They live. They win. They return to Earth. 

And Shiro’s devotion never falters. He is half-blind to the cadets and colleagues who throw themselves at his feet and he never stops looking at Keith with bedroom eyes when they’re in the clear. Even when Keith is drawn back to the stars like a moth to a flame and spends weeks away, Shiro is the first face he sees upon landing. Likewise, Keith’s desire is unshakeable. As he grows into the prime of his youth, Keith notices eyes turn his way. People practically line up for him. But Keith spends all of his free mental real estate thinking of Shiro waiting for him back on Earth. He is only ever torn between two lovers: Shiro and the freedom of space.

Against all the evidence before him — against everything he knows about himself and Shiro — Keith waits for the other shoe to drop. He watches for the curve ball. Perhaps a new Blade recruit with pale skin and black hair who has the demeanor for a higher position one day. But they never appear.

And then, on a planet half a universe away from Earth and two years after the end of the war, the gramophone appears in a marketplace. 

Despite its poor condition, Keith recognizes it almost immediately. It sits amongst a strange collection of alien absconded knick knacks and the Uniloo trader calls it an ‘aquatic announcement device’. As Keith wipes a layer of thick dust from the turntable with his fingers, he is transported back to a place he committed to memory years before. It’s a hazy, partial reproduction in the back of his mind, but some details never fade. Like the green pearl inlay near the gramophone’s base or the dull shine of the brass sound horn. He haggles and buys it as a birthday gift for Shiro with anticipation in his fingertips.

Shiro gets down on one knee for Keith at his own birthday party and the gramophone becomes an engagement present.

Allura insists they have their wedding on New Altea. 

Keith wants that song he heard to play at their wedding. But Keith can’t find it anywhere. Not on vinyl or on any digital archives. He let’s it go for the time being.

But even after they say their vows, Keith reminds himself that rings don’t necessarily carve things in stone. He watches Shiro — donned in a white tuxedo and dancing with his grandmother under strings of twinkling lights — over the rim of his shimmering champagne and makes a vow to himself:

He will force the universe’s hand. He will create the future he saw; piece by piece like a jigsaw puzzle to replicate the right conditions. And, in the end, the image will be the one he experienced all those years ago. _He_ will be the one to walk through that door because he wills it to be so.

Easier said than done.

When they start looking for homes, the Garrison pushes a mansion reserved for high ranking officers on Shiro. Before they even take a look at it, Keith knows it isn’t right. The living room he saw wasn’t part of a mansion. It felt cosy and fit for a small family. As the partner who spends most of their time away, Keith knows he should have less say. Still, he makes all of his opinions known. _What do we need seven bedrooms for? There’s no place for a downstairs gym. This bathroom hasn’t been updated since the 2090s._ Shiro gets the hint.

They keep looking. Keith turns down house after house. He gets sick of tours and realtors talking about ‘open floor plans’ and, for the first time in a long time, Shiro gets frustrated with Keith’s stubbornness. Keith quietly worries that they’re not meant to find the house together.

The next time Keith comes back to Earth, he expects Shiro to have a stack of listings on his desk with a demand that he finally _pick one_. Instead, Shiro is waiting on his red hoverbike with a trunk of beer and Keith’s favorite snacks. Keith hops on the back without question, they rocket away, and he feels like a teenager again. They picnic (if lagers and beef jerky could be called a picnic) out on their favorite mesa and don’t talk about house hunting at all. Keith just basks in the dusky sunlight with Shiro’s head resting on his lap.

Keith takes the long way on the drive back, curving around the still rebuilding city next to the Galaxy Garrison. A small cluster of new houses gives Keith pause and he takes a detour on instinct. They come to a stop in front of a two-story slate gray house with a ‘FOR SALE’ sign hanging in the still dirt front lawn. It’s simple and smaller than most they previously considered. But Keith recognizes the shape of the windows.

They tour the home and Kosmo’s immediate approval is evident by the way he transports into each room for inspection, followed by a nap in the empty living room.

They move within the month. 

Then, the siege happens. Keith is far away and the Garrison is ill prepared after nearly three years of uninterrupted peace. The invading Galra faction is small and don’t speak for the new Galra Empire, but they are powerful, radical, and merciless. 

Led by an old empire war lord, they storm the Garrison in armored battle cruisers with the express purpose to steal updated teleduv blueprints as a tool for war. And instead of sending in a quiet spy, they break down the door. A new type of ion cannon cuts through the Garrison’s particle barrier like a hot knife to butter. The Atlas takes time to deploy, but Shiro and his crew are able to get her up in the air as a pod of MFE fighters keep the invasion at bay. The Atlas takes the cruisers out of the sky one by one. It’s a victory, but at a high loss.

By the time Keith makes it back to Earth, the skirmish is quelled and the damage has been done. And Keith blames himself in a way. As a Blade chief and a delegate for the new Galra Empire, he should have heard whisperings of such an attack. But, as rudimentary as the faction’s plan was, they were smart to quiet their radio waves and keep Blade spies out of their circles. There was nothing else Keith could have done.

But Shiro, golden admiral of the Galaxy Garrison, takes it so much worse. 

A quarter of the Garrison is obliterated and another quarter is inoperable. The neighboring town is hit with fallout and Keith is glad their new home isn’t part of the damage. But damage can be repaired. Lives lost cannot. Sendak’s invasion of Earth isn’t ancient history and the recent assault opens wounds new and old. A smaller memorial wall is erected next to the existing one and Shiro spends a lot of time visiting both.

Keith removes himself from all Marmoran missions in the foreseeable future. He says it’s because he wants to help the rebuild, but it’s mostly for Shiro. Shiro, who puts on a brave face as he stitches their community back together, but moves like a ghost through their half furnished home. 

One night, Shiro spends hours pouring over files that should have been in someone else’s hands. Requests for burial reimbursements, appeals for information on memorial plaques — tasks that should have never reached his desk. It’s almost like a punishment to himself for his perceived failure. Or to try and honor the lives of people he barely knew with his personal time and energy. Keith knows it has something to do with Adam, though Shiro would never explicitly say. 

And when Keith tries to coax Shiro’s datapad from his hands and into a bath, Shiro breaks. He shows Keith pictures of the fallen, he tells him their stories, and he wipes away his silent tears with the back of his human hand. Keith just curls up next to Shiro and listens. His husband fixates on two people in particular: a promising young astronomer killed in the observatory collapse and an ace MFE pilot shot out of the sky in the final hour. 

“They left behind kids,” Shiro says, “Barely a month old. She shouldn’t have been flying so soon after giving birth. She went against direct orders. And he’s gone too now. There’s no surviving relatives so the kids are left in Garrison custody. They’ll go into the foster system until they get adopted or they reach Garrison enrollment age. These days, finding people to foster more than one infant is so hard, but they’re twins. I don’t want them separated — ”

Keith’s breath hitches. “Twins?” He looks at the parents’ pictures again — dark hair and honey warm eyes. It’s possible, but he wishes he knew for absolute certainty.

“Yeah. A boy and a girl,” Shiro nods with a sniffle. He opens a different part of the file and shows Keith a picture of two babies in a crib; big cheeks, eyes screwed shut, with wispy black hair. One of them is wrapped in a blanket printed with narwhals. Keith almost starts crying too.

They adopt the twins within the year and keep their given names: Ursa and Leo.

Keith never saw himself as the paternal type. He wants kids because Shiro wants kids and he saw it in Shiro’s future. But when Keith holds little Ursa in his arms for the first time and she drools globs of spit onto his shoulder — he falls head over heels. He understands why their mother would go against protocol and fly into certain death for them. Keith would do the same. 

The first night they bring home their new family, Keith sings them the Galran battle hymn.

Kosmo is so excited by the babies that he keeps flitting in and out of their dimension involuntarily for the first week. He starts doing it on purpose when he realizes it sends them into laughing fits. Kosmo transports his own bed into the nursery and growls every time Shiro tries to move it.

Their little gummy smiles and sparkling laughter pull Shiro out of his depression and bring the light back to his eyes. He dotes on them incessantly, as expected, and the team does too.

Keith knows the Voltron team is his family. But what that means for Ursa and Leo doesn’t entirely hit him until they’re all gathered inside the Shirogane home celebrating the twins’ first birthday. The babies get passed around, enjoying attention from everyone: Krolia, Hunk, Pidge, the Holts, Coran, Allura, and even Lance. Kolivan sends his love from afar in the form of two Blade daggers for them to inherit when they get older. Keith realizes the twins have an entire village waiting on them. No matter what happens in the future, they will never be alone. Not like Keith.

Ursa grows up to be a firecracker. She’s independent and headstrong, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue when she starts to form her own sentences. She comes home with more scraped knees and elbows than Leo by a long shot.

Leo is a milder soul, but his emotional intelligence is lightyears ahead of Ursa from the very start. He is observant and introspective, with a gentle, approachable nature that makes it easy to make friends. But he’s more sensitive as a result and Ursa comes to his aid often, taking the role of an older sister. Even though she is twenty-two minutes younger than him.

As they grow, Keith begins to recognize them. He convinces Shiro to let their hair grow long and finds the right narwhal stuffed toy for Leo to grow attached to. He sings the battle hymn to them most nights until he returns to his duties as a Blade. Shiro returns to his admiral post and they have family and friends take shifts babysitting. As working parents with extraordinary responsibilities, they do their best.

Keith lets his hair grow long and gets in the habit of braiding it over his shoulder. Shiro likes it. A lot.

The song is the last piece of the puzzle Keith can’t seem to find. He scours every market and every rag tag antique store across the country for the record. It never appears. As the years pass by and the children get older, Keith begins to lose hope. He stops searching all together. He tries not to think about the vow he made to himself and the memory of the solar vision begins to fade as they settle into their family life.

Ursa and Leo start first grade and Keith starts taking longer missions. He wants to make a bigger impact; wants to make sure old war lords and fringe factions never threaten his happiness again. Because the thought of losing any of them is too much to bear. He’s too in love. 

To keep them safe, Keith dives deeper into dangerous waters. With his own children he fully understands why his mother did what she did. Shiro tries to pull him back, but knows better than to outright demand he comes home. So Keith goes further. He entrenches himself in espionage missions, jumps at opportunities to lead raids, and even gets involved in combat from time to time.

Shiro hates it.

They argue about it before Keith leaves on his next mission. Shiro uses clipped words and even takes his glasses off to toss them across his desk in frustration. Keith is angry and defensive and doesn’t know why Shiro can’t _understand_. He leaves Shiro’s office with guilt weighing down his shoulders and the distinct fear that he may be experiencing the beginning of the end. The edges are barely frayed, but Keith is conditioned to think the worst.

He lets his worries cloud his focus and the next mission goes poorly. No one is hurt and the damage is minimal, but three weeks of careful planning go out the window with one mistake. Keith’s mistake. After a heated exchange, Kolivan refuses to give Keith any more assignments. He’s grounded.

The journey home is long and peppered with long stretches of silence for Keith to fill with his worst fears. Kosmo’s companionship helps. Keith talks to the wolf about Shiro, the kids, and the Blades. Kosmo emits waves of concern and excitedly wags his tail at every mention of Ursa and Leo’s names. After nearly a month, Keith is excited to see them too. But it will be late when he arrives and they will have long since gone to bed. Shiro’s disapproving look would greet him at the door, he just knew it. 

Keith lands on the Garrison runway, signs the necessary docking paperwork, and heads home.

The front door feels heavier than usual, but Keith hasn’t come home in so long that maybe he’s just imagining it. Kosmo trots ahead into the small entryway, paws tapping along the wooden floor. Keith quietly drops his bag at the end of the stairs and breathes in deep. Earthy and clean — it smells like home. He rounds the corner, heading first for the living room where he knows Shiro will be —

_— remember when we part, time is a friend that can mend a broken heart._

The last puzzle piece slips into place.

Keith stands in the open archway, too stunned to move. It isn’t deja vu, because Keith has been here before. Time stops, he holds his breath, and his heartbeat slows to a crawl. He feels suspended on another plane. The ringing in his ears drowns out the music and only stops when Ursa calls for him.

“Daddy!” she exclaims and bounds from the couch, almost tripping over the rug. She’s wearing pajamas two sizes too big.

Keith’s eyes instinctively look at the empty chair, pulled out like it’s occupied. It is. In another time and place, Keith is there too. He’s a ghost on the other side of the universe, too scared to face his future. 

“Down! Down!” Leo demands and is gently released on the ground. He rushes to Keith with Nadia the Narwhal clutched in his arms. His daughter and son grasp at his legs, hugging him close with all their strength. Still, Keith is too shocked to move. He’s afraid he’s going to shatter into a million pieces on the floor with one wrong step.

He looks at Shiro. His handsome husband stands back, a look of pure adoration on his aged face. The argument has been forgotten and all is already forgiven. No disappointment, no resentment. Just love coming off him in waves; like a strong, neverending current. After years of wondering, Keith now knows what it feels like to be under that gaze. The silly thing is that he’s known it all along. Shiro has looked at him that way for years, but he was too stubborn and stupid to put two and two together. But it was always _him_. It was always _them_.

“Welcome home, babe,” Shiro says, so gentle and romantic that it makes Keith flush.

He looks down. The children are locked around each knee, demanding his attention with their dogged determination and perfect smiles. Leo is missing two front teeth but it’s still perfect to Keith. They giggle and tell him how much they missed him and Keith only hears bits and pieces because suddenly his senses have gone awry. His heart is too full and it overflows into every corner of his being, filling his head with cotton and his eyes with water.

“Babe, are you alright? Is something wrong?” his husband asks, genuinely concerned.

Keith Kogane is not a crier. But after falls to his knees and pulls his children in close, they might as well name a geyser after him.

“I m-missed you both so much. S-so much,” he sobs, “Stars, I love you both. I would do anything for you.” Tears trail down his face in a constant stream; he couldn’t stop it if he tried. He kisses Ursa and Leo on their round cheeks over and over. Their bright laughter is better than any music. They wrap their little arms around him and Leo even drops Nadia to the floor to give Keith his full attention. Kosmo circles around them, confused and looking for a way to push his nose in and get attention. Keith holds them like he never intends to let go. Physical affection has never been easy for him, but now he can’t think of anything else he could need more.

When Keith blinks his eyes open, Shiro has dropped to his knees as well. The concern on his face is clear; he is expecting bad news. 

Leo pulls back. “Are you okay, daddy?” he asks, twinkling eyes so sweet and knowing.

Keith just smiles and nods, brilliant despite his ruddy cheeks and puffy eyes. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I think I was g-gone too long,” he breathes between sobs. Kosmo licks the salty tears from his face and Keith says, “I think Kosmo wants some love too.” The children turn their attention to the wolf, much to his glee. He rolls onto his belly and the twins attack him with their eager scratches and praise.

Keith takes that chance to grasp for Shiro.

The cool metal hand against the soft underside of his jaw grounds him again and Keith tries to swallow down his emotions. He’s a mess. Shiro wipes away another escaped tear. “Did something happen?” Shiro asks, but is partially cut off by a press of lips. 

Keith kisses him firm, quick, and a little graceless. It feels like a first kiss and it’s all he can manage, but it would do for the moment. Until they got the kids in bed. He shakes his head and looks into Shiro’s soft gray eyes. “Everything’s okay. It’s okay. I just missed you.”

“I missed you too, Keith,” Shiro says, looking a bit beside himself.

Keith is beyond the words to explain what has happened to him. When he is level headed and able to function again, he will be able to articulate everything he felt. How his heart is on the brink of exploding. How his eyes just can’t seem to stop leaking. How Shiro’s concerned, soft gaze makes him want to do everything all again. Everything. The good, the bad, and everything in between. But Keith’s heart and his head are in a jumble on the floor. Until they find their rightful places in his body, he just has to get through the night without falling to absolute pieces. And he knows what the next step is.

Shiro gingerly helps Keith to his feet. Keith wobbles a little, but feels light as a feather with Shiro’s hand in his. With a more composed air, he looks to their twins, “Well, let’s get you to bed. You were waiting on me for the goodnight song, yeah?”

Ursa and Leo jump up from where Kosmo lies, four paws in the air with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Yeah!” Leo exclaims and grabs his plushie from the floor.

“Papa said he would do it, but we wanted you to do it,” Ursa says, a bit sheepish.

Keith glances sideways at his husband. “Because that’s the way it is. I sing the goodnight song and Papa makes the banana pancakes,” he says. Shiro’s smile drops away just a tick, a joyfully curious expression taking its place.

“That’s what I said!” Ursa throws up her hands.

They climb the stairs at their own paces, with Ursa and Leo racing to beat each other to bed and Keith and Shiro moving slowly, hand in hand. They’ve done this many nights, but it’s special this time. This time, when Keith tucks his children into their matching covers with their namesake constellation mobiles swirling above their heads, it feels like a ritual. It’s sacred. He removes Ursa’s tie and arranges her hair on the pillow in swirls. He makes sure Nadia is safely tucked in next to Leo. Kosmo curls up at the foot of Ursa’s bed on one of his many cushions. 

Then, Keith dials up the star projector between the beds while Shiro turns off the bedroom light from where he stands in the doorway.

The universe dances on the walls around them in hues of blue and pink. It’s calming and enchanting. It looks nothing like space, not really. But Ursa and Leo will find out for themselves when they’re old enough to fly. They’ll see exactly how beautiful and scary and breathtaking it really is with their own eyes. Within moments, the twin’s eyelids grow heavy.

Keith sits on the side of Leo’s bed, pets his dark hair, and sings:

_A warrior are you,  
As ancestors foresee  
Strong and brave  
Too fierce for a grave  
Take this with you  
And come back to me_

_My warrior bold,  
Prepared must you be  
With metal in hand  
So proud must you stand  
Stay ‘til the end  
And come back to me_

_My warrior quick,  
From war do not flee  
But open your eyes  
And look to the skies  
Remember home  
And come back to me_

_My warrior true,  
This power is yours,  
May Kral Zera guide you  
Leave all doubts behind you  
Be not afraid  
And come back to me_

_My warrior dear,  
Your laurels await  
May stars light your way  
We are united this day  
Grateful I am  
You’ve come back to me_

Their eyes are closed and their breathing is deep. Keith carefully rises, kisses his son, then his daughter, and returns to Shiro’s side.

“Goodnight, my warriors,” Keith whispers and closes the door.

Shiro takes his hand and Keith feels goosebumps break out across his skin. He has that gleam in his eye as he pulls Keith toward their bedroom. He’s so beautiful and magnetic in the shadow of the hallway. Keith is astounded he has the resolve to pull the opposite way. “Not yet,” he whispers.

Keith leads Shiro back downstairs and it’s curiosity that has his husband following without question. He only lets go of Shiro’s hand when he reaches the gramophone. There is one more thing he wants to do before the night is over. One more thing he fantasized about and had already done with Shiro night after night. But this night was special.

“Where did you get this record?” Keith asks as he gently resets the pin on the spinning vinyl.

“My grandmother. She left her whole collection to me when she passed. It just… took me a while to be up to listening to them,” he answers.

 _The whole time_. It was _there_ , in Shiro’s childhood home, the whole time. Keith chuckles to himself.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Shiro asks.

“Tomorrow,” Keith promises, “I’ll try to explain everything tomorrow.”

The song crackles to life and he revolves. Shiro already has his hand out and Keith takes it. They meet halfway, Keith stepping forward and Shiro pulling him in, until their bodies align. Until they can feel each other's heart beating in time. Keith wraps a hand around the back of Shiro’s strong neck and feels the hard metal of Shiro’s Altean hand against the small of his back. They dance in small, but confident steps. It’s casual, romantic; Keith never wants it to end.

“Are we going back to the honeymoon phase? Is that what this is?” Shiro quietly asks, without condescension. He’s clearly excited at the prospect.

Keith smiles, watching a family photo on the wall. “Did we ever really leave that phase?”

“...I guess not.”

They dance in slow circles, floorboards gently creaking beneath their feet with the right pressure. Keith knows what it feels like to be the luckiest man in the universe. 

As the song comes to a close, their steps slow and what was left of any form dissolves completely as they begin to sway. Keith is almost half asleep in Shiro’s arms when his husband asks, “Did you know there was another verse to the goodnight song?” Keith senses a possible dad joke coming on. But he bites.

“Oh?” he hums, pressing his cheek against Shiro’s jaw. “How does it go?” His eyes flutter closed as the record stops spinning and the pin lifts on its own. The quiet that falls is still and perfect. Keith breathes in deep as Shiro presses his lips to his ear:

_My warrior soul,  
This heart is yours  
I want you forever  
However, whenever  
Kiss me goodnight dear  
And make love to me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy ending and a happy birthday to the indominable Keith Kogane <3  
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